


heavy hearts weigh us down

by flowercoast



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, alt title: what beau sees before she dies, beau dies and doesn't come back, blood cw, injury cw, not sorry about this, yeah this doesn't really have a happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercoast/pseuds/flowercoast
Summary: Beau doesn't get to say goodbye.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 16
Kudos: 117





	heavy hearts weigh us down

The wound on her thigh won’t stop pouring blood, no matter how hard Beau presses against it. Liquid seeps over her fingers, pooling onto the dirt road like a spilled bottle of paint, dampening the soil where she sits. Beau would be more worried, would care more if she was coherent enough to feel the pain of it. As it is, she’s more than fucked up from a spell she took earlier, her mind a fuzzy mess, even with the healing Jester and Caduceus pumped into her system.

Right now, all Beau knows the searing pain in her leg, the wetness on her fingers, the red of her hands. She’s fucked up, but really, so is everyone else. Not a big deal. If she’s panting hard, struggling to breathe, and the blood won’t stop coming? Not a big deal at all.

“You’re still bleeding?” Beau tilts her head back to see Fjord, his face marred with worry and his own battle wounds from the fight. He frowns when she meets his gaze. “Woah, you’re super fucked.”

“Humph.” Beau says. Or mumbles. Honestly, there’s little difference at this point. She lifts her hand to scrub at her jaw, and it’s only after that she remembers that her hand is covered in blood. Beau starts laughing.

Fjord’s eyes widen the way they do when he’s freaked out by something. “Uh. Cad? Jester?”

Another face pops into view, and Beau realizes her head is swimming as her vision steadily gets blurrier and blurrier. Beau can only tell that the new person is Caduceus because of his pink hair, but everything he’s saying sounds underwater, or like they’re in a different room. Everything’s muffled and muted. 

Beau just wants to lie down.

A strong poke to her side makes her jump.

“Hey, stay awake!” It’s Jester, now. Beau could recognize her voice anywhere. The smell of pastries that constantly clings to her soothes the migraine in Beau’s head, but only a little. It’s still all marching bands and endless pain in there. Or. Everywhere. 

Jester’s cold fingers cup Beau’s too-hot cheek and Beau leans into the touch, her eyes half-lidded and her limbs heavy and leaden. Jester says something else, but Beau can’t hear her over the rushing in her ears. 

The last thing she sees are the stars, wild and twinkling across the blue canvas of the night sky. 

~~~ 

The vision comes easily to her, more a half-lit memory than anything else. 

It’s dark, in the fields, and the stars are shining overhead like tiny daggers, gleaming until they start winking out, one by one. Beau just watches from where she’s seated on the hard packed earth, feeling vines tangle around her hands slowly. 

When they’re all gone from the sky and all that’s left is the moon, open like a watchful eye, Beau turns her gaze to the house, standing silently in the middle of the ashen grove. The lights are on and Beau can see a figure moving around inside, silhouetted against the glow of the interior lights. 

Something feels familiar, though she can’t place it. 

The vines are tangling around her ankles now, smooth and red instead of green. They’re cold and slimy against her skin, but they’re soundless. Warning bells in Beau’s head tells her to get up and run away from the house. 

She listens to half of it. 

When she stands, the vines slither away from her, darting off in different directions along the blackened earth. Beau takes a step towards the house, the nervous dread building up in her gut and rolling around like a barrel in a storm. 

Another step, and something squishes underfoot, soft and liquid. She lifts her foot and sees a squashed grape, except the liquid that comes out is fine wine, red and smelling of sulfur. 

Something here is off, in a way that Beau can only feel. Something’s here, tangling her up like the vines from earlier, except it’s in her lungs and it’s squirming around in there, threatening to choke her. If she looks hard enough, the edges of this dream go fuzzy, almost as if shielding something from her, but what? The house, still unmoving and silent and very bright in the distance, brings the roiling nausea to the pit of her stomach. Everything is holding its breath. She hates waiting.

“Beauregard?”

That one phrase echoes across the empty plane and Beau tenses. She hasn’t heard that voice in a while and it still makes her feel sick, sicker than anything. Suddenly she’s five again and back in her father’s office and looking into his disappointed face, the curve of his downturned lip the same as the one in her own. She’s five and her father’s voice is still the clearest thing in this hazy shifting dream - no. Memory. 

“Beauregard.” 

He sounds closer now, and Beau can practically smell his overpriced cologne, still overwhelmingly unpleasant and pungent, even in the presence of the sulfur fields. His voice is so damn clear it's unnerving, the timbre in his tone low and displeased like she remembers it. Beau takes one last long look at the house, at the figure standing at the window. 

The lights shut off in the house. Beau takes a deep breath to try and clear the crawling sickly sensation in her lungs and turns around.

Her father looks almost exactly like she remembers him, complete with his overdressed suit and yellow tie. The constantly-furrowed brow is the same too - he always looked on the verge of a migraine, and it seems like now is no exception to that.

Thoreau stops in front of her, his features a shifting mask under the pale blue moonlight. “Beauregard.” 

“Thoreau.” Beau crosses her arms, a sudden chill sweeping across her body.

“You haven’t changed.” 

“Look who’s talking.”

In response, Thoreau just hums, his eyes never leaving her face. Beau can feel the vines slowly creeping back over her feet now that she’s not moving. Her lungs feel just as clogged and weighted, and Beau’s half tempted to blame that uncomfortable feeling for making her think that her father isn’t blinking, that his lips aren’t moving. Except - they aren’t. When Beau blinks, he’s blurry for the half second after she opens her eyes, his frame blending in to the hazy liminal darkness behind him. He’s just a statue. Just that buzzing in her brain, growing louder as her lungs grow more crowded. 

He eyes her steadily, nodding his head. “You’re finally here.”

Beau stiffens. “What?”

His voice has a different quality to it, one that Beau can’t place. It’s not quite her father’s voice, even if it is coming from him. The sentence echoes, but only in her head, only alongside the loud buzzing that’s making her ears ring. 

“Welcome.” 

An itch crawls up her throat, burning along her skin until it’s all she can think about. The vines creep up her legs steadily as she stares her father straight in his jet black eyes, her head buzzing and buzzing and buzzing.

“I’m not -” Beau coughs, shakes her head. “Where are we?” 

Her eyes dart around and the moonlight seems to dim, illuminating only certain points across the hazy purple plain of volcanic ash and pits. Beau can’t see anything past fifty feet, the light like a spotlight around her and Thoreau. 

“Where do you think we are?”

A biting chill sweeps around her body and Beau wraps her arms around herself, tight. Something in her head is screaming, itching, buzzing, begging for her to do something but there’s nothing Beau can think to do as she stares her father in his cold eyes. 

“The vineyard.”

“Maybe.”

Beau looks around again. There’s a gnarled tree behind her father now, one of branches hanging low to the floor. Fog rolls over the floor until Beau can’t even see the vines wrapping around her legs, anchoring her steadily to the floor and sucking her in. “... Am I dreaming?” 

Thoreau’s mouth doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift at all. “Maybe.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Beau breathes in deep and attempts to free her legs from the vine-trap. The slimy and cold tendrils hold fast though, and Beau curses under her breath as she struggles vainly against their strength. She shakes her head.

“I -” Beau reaches down and grabs at one part of the vine, tugging so hard that when her hands slip they burn. “Wake me up. Now.”

“Wake up from what?” Vines creep up the side of the tree trunk standing behind Thoreau, sliding across the rough bark like purple snakes, dripping with red liquid that spills over the floor and the branches. It smells like wine. 

“This dream,” Beau growls.

“What dream?” 

Within the blink of an eye, Thoreau’s standing in front of her, his face lit up bright with the moonlight except for his eyes, which remain dark and empty. He opens his mouth and fog starts spilling out, coming in waves until it clouds everything so fast and oppressively, until Beau has no choice but to breathe it in. It’s wine and cloying and heavy, so heavy - it does nothing to clear the clogging in her throat and lungs. The fog worsens it, thickens the burn and choking of it. Before she can do anything except choke on the fog, Beau is falling back, the feeling in her lungs and throat tightening as everything fades.

~~~ 

Beau gasps awake, heaving for air that won’t come fast enough, never fast enough, not after that dream. The thought flickers through her mind, if this is how Molly felt, clawing his way up through the dirt to fresh air. If it is then it’s just another thing to add to the list of “I fucked up by being an asshole”. The Molly section in that list is long, but Beau can’t sit and count. Not when the breaths still refuse to enter her lungs. She still feels like she’s choking, still suffocating slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks and hands fisted in the bedsheets as she coughs and coughs and - 

Jester’s face hovers in front of her, purple eyes wide and filled with worry and concern in equal measure. 

“Beau! Beau, can you hear me?” 

No. Maybe. _Yes_. 

She nods, frantic, still not breathing but hands no longer tearing apart the bedsheets. Her fingers fly up to grasp at Jester’s wrists, holding only tightly enough to feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat. It’s enough of a reminder, enough of an anchor. 

Beau’s heart is still racing, her mind a thunderstorm when Jester lays her hands on the sides of Beau’s face, her palms warm and gentle against the clammy skin. 

“Beau,” Jester says, eyes still wide but her voice calm as she smooths her fingers over the monk’s cheeks. “I need you to breathe.” 

_How_? 

Jester leans closer, her breath moving the loose hairs on Beau’s head. “Breathe in,” She takes a deep breath in. “Breathe out.” She breathes out. 

Beau nods, slowly, throat still tight and lungs still heavy. 

“Breathe in.” Beau gulps in air. “Breathe out.” Exhales, shakily. 

Jester nods, presses her forehead against Beau’s, her instructions whispered soft in this dead space of the night. 

They breathe together, loud and harsh, for minutes on end. They breathe until Beau can barely feel the tightening of her throat, the fog no longer settling in like a clog in her lungs but just resting. Her mouth tastes faintly of the wine when she swallows, but that’s okay because Jester’s hugging her now.

Strong arms wrap around her back and she clings on as her tears dampen Jester’s shirt. 

“Are you okay?” Jester asks, soft and sad. Beau doesn’t want to think about it right now, but the taste of wine is still in her mouth and the look in her dad’s black eyes is all she sees, all the time. So she hugs Jester closer and coughs, dryly. 

“Had a bad dream.” 

Jester squeezes, once. 

The taste of wine is more present, now that she’s keenly aware of how dry her mouth is. Her tongue scrapes against her the roof of her mouth unpleasantly, and her throat feels like scratchy sandpaper. Overall, Beau feels like she usually does after going down in battle. Maybe she did. It’s all fuzzy, still. The only clear shit she remembers are black eyes. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Beau shakes her head. 

“Okay. Okay.” 

For a while, neither of them speak or move. They just sit there and breathe, their puffs of air almost obtrusively loud in the quiet of the night around them. The buzzing in the back of Beau’s head still lives, though it seems so faint now, fainter than it was during the dream. Just enough to be unnoticable. 

Beau’s not sure when she closes her eyes but she does. Just before she falls into the darkness of sleep, she hears Jester’s softly whispered words, weaving through the air gently.

“This isn’t a dream, either.” 

~~~

When she opens her eyes again, she’s in a tavern, surrounded by all of her friends. The Mighty Nein sit around a large circular table at the center of the room, and Beau’s in a chair next to Fjord, who has his arm slung around the back of her chair while he laughs at something Caduceus said. Beau shakes her head and frowns. 

“Hey, you good?” Fjord taps her shoulder. 

“Um.” She stares at his grin, bright in the golden light of the tavern. “Yeah. Yeah, just had a weird feeling just then, I guess.” 

Satisfied with her answer, Fjord pats her with a heavy hand and stands, saying something about grabbing more drinks before ambling off to the bar. Beau takes the opportunity to glance around. Jester’s across the table from her, talking animatedly to Nott and Yasha who are sitting on either side of her. Next to Yasha is an empty chair, and next to that empty chair is Caleb, then Beau. She turns around and takes in the rest of the tavern, full of chatter and warm lights. Surprisingly, almost everyone they know is there - Reani, Keg, and Calianna sit around a table near the back, smiling around large tankards. Dairon’s there too, standing at the bar near Fjord and Nila. Bryce, Shakaste, and Essek are talking to Allura, while Darrow plays card games with Marion and the Gentleman at the table behind them. 

All in all, it’s a weird sight. It makes the buzzing in her head grow louder, so Beau turns around and clears her throat. 

“Here.” Caleb slides a full tankard in front of her, the familiar curl of concern painted along the lines of his face. “... You are. Okay, ja?”

She nods at him and grabs the tankard. “I’m fine. Having an off night, is all. I’m good though.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, instead opting to study Beau’s face very carefully like it’ll crack if he stares at her long enough. After a couple moments and Beau’s pointed frown, Caleb sighs. He reaches out to pat at her hand, leaving his palm pressed against her knuckles.

“We are very… happy to have you here.” There’s nothing but pure sincerity in his voice. 

Beau breathes out heavily, runs her hand over her hair and leans back. “Fuck, man. What’s with the sappy shit?” She subtly sniffles and blinks rapidly to try and clear the sudden tightening in her throat.

He squeezes, hard enough to really feel it. “I mean it.” 

She blinks hard, scrubs her free hand against her eyes and sucks in a breath to try and get rid of the thickness in her lungs. Everyone is looking at her when she glances back up. 

“He’s right, you know.” Fjord sits back down at the table with three mugs, his eyes warm and smile soft. “I’m glad you have my back, first mate.” 

“You’re important to us, Beau.” Caduceus grins evenly at her. 

If someone else says something, she’s definitely going to cry. Which would obviously be horrible, and she doesn’t want to do that, so Beau makes eye contact with Nott, Jester, and Yasha, trying to convey with her eyes what she means. Yasha and Jester nod at her.

Nott bangs her fist against the table, looking a little more drunk than everyone else. “To the Mighty Nein!” She hoists her overflowing tankard up. “To Beau!” 

The rest of the Mighty Nein cheer along, and for a moment, the feeling around Beau’s chest loosens. She stares at her friends, warmly glowing golden in the loud tavern, and smiles.

A hand lands on her shoulder, startling her enough that she physically jumps. Beau turns to look and stops dead, the leaden feeling in her lungs and throat coming back in full force. 

It’s Molly. Fucking Molly. As in, Molly who died.

“What -”

He pats her shoulder and shushes her, head jerking towards the open door of the tavern. With a frown and quick glance around, it’s easy to tell that no one else has noticed Molly’s presence, or, if they have, they’re too busy drinking and chanting to care. But, still. It’s Molly. He’s supposed to be dead and no one’s batting an eyelash at it. 

The stone that’s been resting in Beau’s gut all night sinks further.

She follows Molly out anyway, the stinging cool blue of the night contrasting heavily from the warm golden aura in the tavern. Molly’s red coat swishes with the night breeze as he takes a seat on the stone sidewalk across the street and leans back against a brick building. Beau follows suit. 

“So.” Molly looks at her long and hard, his eyes the same shade of startling red as Beau remembers them. “Nice night, huh?”

“What the fuck’s going on?”

“A lot of things. There’s a big party in the tavern right now.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Those red eyes pierce through her, in the way she always found unnerving when he was alive. Now she finds it comforting. 

“... Is this a dream?” 

“What do you think?”

Beau swallows heavily and looks away, watching the way her breath fogs and curls up into the endless blue sky. There are no stars. “No.”

“It isn’t,” Molly confirms. 

“Then what the fuck is it?” 

“Beau.” Her eyes drag away from the sky, back down to Molly, sitting tense against the brick with a sad tilt to his mouth. “I’m here.” 

Tears fill Beau’s eyes and she shuts them, the sinking feeling rising up her throat. “Yeah. You are.”

“It gets better.” A hand lands on her forearm, squeezing tight. “Probably.” 

With a wet laugh, Beau forces her eyes open, letting the tears stream down her face freely. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t. I’m not really here.”

Light spills out from the open doorway of the tavern, gold splashing against blue and almost reaching the two of them before ending suddenly - a stark line across the floor. Laughter and song pours out into the street. 

Molly squeezes her arm again, a grin curving up his face. “It’s a nice night.” 

Beau nods and breathes out heavy, the tightening of her lungs unstoppable now. It burns in the center of her chest, making it hard to breathe, but she takes in a shuddering breath anyways, tilts her head up and stares out into the blue and places her hand over Molly’s. “It _is_ a nice night.”

“... You know, those drugs we got from that one store in Trostenwald would be excellent right about now.” 

Chuckling dryly, Beau closes her eyes. “You’re the worst.” 

A harder squeeze to her arm and Molly snorts. Beau smiles.

“Beau.”

“Hm.”

“I’m glad I got to know you.”

Beau bites down hard on her lip and fights back against the thickness in her throat and mouth. “I’m glad I got to know you too. Always have been.”

“Wow. Say that again.” 

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Alright.” Molly laughs. “Alright.”

~~~

Opening her eyes, Beau finds herself back at camp, laying down in the dome as her leg pours blood. Everybody’s crowded around her, similar looks of grim sorrow on their faces and around the tension in their shoulders. Fjord, Caleb, and Caduceus are crouching down near Beau’s left side, while Nott and Yasha stand somewhere near her legs. Jester’s hovering over her, hands pressed against Beau’s chest and pushing down, hard. 

There are tears streaming down Jester’s face. “We’re trying so hard, you know.” 

“I know,” Beau murmurs.

“We don’t want to lose you.” Fjord’s voice is shaky. 

“We don’t want…” Caleb frowns, sucks in a deep breath and lays a hand on Beau’s cold shoulder. “We don’t want you to die.” 

The heavy, tightening feeling squeezes around her chest, pulling forth a wracking cough. Blood dribbles from her lips, red and splattering to the floor like rain. 

“It’s poisoned.” Caduceus’ face is pained as he rests his hand on her stomach. “We don’t know what it is.” 

“We can do something! We can help you - we can revivify you, you’ll be okay in a few minutes. I’m going to - I’m casting cure wounds, I’m going to help you, we’re helping you, Beau!” Green magic swirls around Jester’s hands, the puffs of radiant energy swirling over the wound on Beau’s leg but not entering, only rolling over it like fog. The stone settles on Beau’s lungs.

“It’s not going to work,” Nott whispers, her ears drooping. “Will it?”

Dropping down to her knees, Yasha stares at Beau with tears in her eyes. “This is not fair. I just got back. There has to be…” 

Beau coughs again, and this time there’s more blood. Her lungs feel full and heavy, her throat burning. She doesn’t need to say anything but they know. She knows they know. 

“Tell me,” She rasps out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. After taking in a sharp breath, Beau eyes them all with a weighted gaze. “Tell me you’ll be okay.” 

“We won’t.” Tears drop to Beau’s chest, dampening her shirt. Jester clenches her hands around the fabric and shakes her head. “I -“

She cuts off with a sob and Nott slowly walks forward to grip her arm. “We need you.” Her yellow eyes are dull and shiny with her own unshed tears, her voice strained. 

The hand on her stomach pats there to get her attention as Caduceus sighs, his nose twitching. There’s a look on his face that Beau’s not sure she’s ever seen before. His eyes are shiny, too. “We won’t be okay. At least, not for a while. Maybe eventually.” 

“Maybe never,” Fjord cuts in, voice crackling slightly. 

“I won’t be.” Caleb squeezes her shoulder like she’ll disappear if he lets go. Maybe she will. 

With a heavy hand on her ankle, Yasha swallows thickly. “We’ll try.” 

Beau nods. This might be the best she’ll ever get from them. Well. Not them. From the them in their mind - from the not-Mighty Nein. It helps, somehow. She really hopes they’ll be okay.

“I love you guys.”

The darkness is easy to fall into, wrapping around her as her eyes close and the choking feeling grows. 

~~~

It should be easy, waking up for this last time, except it isn’t. Beau’s lungs feel like they’re on fire and her throat aches and her leg actually hurts like it did before. Like it’s still seeping blood. It might be for all she knows. But for now she wakes up in the cold sand, with the warm sun beating down on her and the sounds of the waves crashing along the shore.

Beau sits up and everything hurts. She blinks several times until she realizes that it’s not her vision that’s blurry but the actual scene that is - the sand and ocean are fuzzy around the edges, like when someone’s smears a painting. 

“Hey, Beau.” Jester floats into vision, bright and clear against the yellow haze.

“Hey, Jes.” Beau coughs and looks down. The sand around her is red. “This isn’t real.”

Jester just blinks. 

Beau swallows hard, forcing back the bile that threatens to creep up her throat. A heavy feeling rests right on the center of her chest, leaden and moving in the way that having something in your lungs feels. Alive. Horrible. Choking. 

Calmly, Jester settles against Beau’s side, her shoulder pressing against Beau’s. “Technically, I don’t think anything’s real. Maybe I’m real and maybe I’m not. Are you real? Is anyone real? Maybe this is all just one big dream and you’ll wake up and then I can show you something real like Sprinkle or the Traveler.” 

“That sounds…” 

“Wonderful?”

“Yeah.”

Jester shifts against Beau, her elbow digging into Beau’s side as she rests her head against her shoulder. “I mean, what is real, really? Maybe real is whatever you think of it, you know?”

“I think I do. Maybe. A little bit.” Beau shrugs, and Jester’s head bobs with the movement.

“Here,” Shifting around, Jester turns so she’s on her knees and facing Beau, her hand coming up to cup gently around Beau’s cheek. The pain in her throat lessens, though not by much. She leans into the touch. “Doesn’t this feel real?”

Beau searches Jester’s eyes. “It does.” 

The waves crash closer now, only a couple of feet away from the two of them. Jester drops her hand to the sand. Beau’s chest tightens again, painfully, and she’s so keenly aware of how little time she has - that even if this isn’t real, it means _something_ and she has to say what’s on her mind before it ends. 

“Hey, Jes?”

“Hm?” 

Beau slides her hand down, gliding against Jester’s smooth blue skin to land a palm against the back of Jester’s hand and squeeze gently. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Jester flips her hand over so they’re palm to palm, shifts closer until their knees are touching, so Beau can feel the cold radiating off of her. 

She swallows heavily. “I’m in love with you.”

“You never told me.” Waves creep closer, splashing across their skin as Beau squeezes Jester’s hand.

Beau stares at Jester. Memorizes her purple eyes, the freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks. The ever-present curl in the corner of her lips. “No.” With a sigh, Beau lets go of Jester’s hand. “I didn’t.” 

They fall silent, the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore growing louder as their breathing becomes softer. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

The choking comes to the top of her throat, the tightening making her tongue feel like lead in her mouth. Beau feels like sinking, sinking down. The fuzzy beach turns fuzzier, blurring the waves and sand under her hands until it’s all one big blob of color. Jester is blue all over, and Beau focuses on that, leans toward it with the stones in her chest dragging her down. 

Tears slip freely from her eyes. _I already miss you_. Beau clears her throat - not that it helps much. “Hey, maybe I can come visit or something. Cast one of those cleric spells of yours and poof - I’ll be there.” 

Beau doesn’t need to look at Jester to know that’s not how this works. Not how any of this works. It’s nice to think about, anyways.

“What would you have done,” Jester whispers, when the world around them is starting to go dim and too blurry to make anything out. “If this hadn’t happened? Like, what would you have done after we had saved the day and become heroes and gotten our happily ever afters, you know? What would your happily ever after have looked like?” 

It takes a while for Beau to answer. The first thought that comes to mind is ‘ _you’_ , but it’s more than that too. She sighs and lets the weight in her chest pull her that much further, lets her eyes flutter shut just that bit more. “I probably would’ve went back to the Cobalt Soul. Did some of the Expositor shit that needed to be done.” 

“That’s it?”

“... I would’ve gotten a house in Nicodranis. Near the beach. Near the Lavish Chateau. TJ would be there too, and I would visit the Cobalt branch in Port Damali as often as I could. I would visit you, wherever you are. Maybe you’re staying with me - roommates forever and all that. We’d have Nugget, and Nott, Luc, and Yeza would live nearby too, and Yasha and Fjord would go sailing for weeks on end. Caleb would help Yussah in his tower and Caduceus would help the hermit in the Wildmother’s lighthouse. We’d all have weekly hangouts with Marion. Maybe some other people would be there too... That’s what I was planning, at least. I know it’ll never happen. Well I mean, back then I never thought it would happen and now…” Beau sighs.

“I wish you would’ve told me.” 

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> maybe i just wanted some goddamn angst like gimme gimme  
> title from michl’s “die trying”  
> instead of writing my other stuff that i actually need to finish, i decided to write this :)  
> catch me on tumblr @flowercoasts to talk more angst with me i love it a lot


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